


Here Goes Nothing

by icannothelpthethingsido



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Natasha is Phil's adopted sister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:55:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icannothelpthethingsido/pseuds/icannothelpthethingsido
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In some weird, alternate universe, Natasha Coulson's life probably end up being a lot like a romance novel. She would have fallen for the hot new guy in her English class, and sparks would fly. But she's pretty sure Clint Barton has a thing for her older brother, Phil, and she's being carrying a torch for James "Bucky" Barnes for way too long for her to give up now. This author is admittedly terrible at summaries, but here goes nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Goes Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated, especially if you catch any mistakes, as this is unbeta'd. Thanks for reading!

I tried, I really did. I tried not to ogle the sinfully attractive new boy that had taken up residence in the seat next to mine. He wasn’t even my type, in all honesty. Sandy blonde hair should have been the first thing to put me off. I never went for blondes. Ever. Second was his clothes. I had no problem with their ragged state, hell, his were probably in better shape than my beat-up jeans and hoodie. But was it really necessary to wear a blank, sleeveless shit, when you had arms that were sins in and of themselves? You could probably see them a mile away! Granted, I wouldn’t be surprised if he simply wore the tank top to prevent busting out the sleeves of any more t-shirts. I snickered to myself at this thought, earning me a curious look from the object of my attentions. I waved my hand in the universal signal of “don’t worry about it,” before winking and turning my attention back to the teacher droning on about something that I could probably learn more about using Google. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, only to be promptly hit in the head with a well-crafted paper airplane. I snatched it out of the air as it began its journey towards the ground, tucking it against my leg. I looked up, and met the teacher’s curious look with cool eyes. After a slight pause, she continued the lesson, and I opened my note delicately.

Can I help you, missy?

I rolled my eyes.

No thanks, sweetie.

I refolded the airplane and sent it sailing perfectly into his bag. It was returned only moments later.

Hey, I’m not the one radiating hormones.

Don’t get your hopes up, pretty boy. 

Now it was New Boy’s turn to roll his eyes, and I resisted the childish urge to stick my tongue out at him. We resorted to ignoring each other for the rest of the class, each of us occasionally glancing up at the clock.

I managed to avoid whatever-his-name-was until after school let out. I shouldered my bag, climbing the stairs to the auditorium’s tech booth and settling into my seat, in front of the lighting board. The school’s show choir practiced on the stage daily, and they could barely tell their right foot from their left, much less puzzle out how to turn on enough lights for their rehearsal. I perked up curiously when I heard the lower level door open, and someone start up the stairs.   
“It’s just supposed to be here today, just the show choir…wait, what’re you doing here?” I asked when I finally had a visual on my visitor. He shrugged, giving me a less than innocent smile.  
“My ride’s broken down, so I’m getting picked up in a few hours, and, apparently, getting involved is a good thing,” he told me. “You seem halfway to tolerable.”  
“D’you know the first thing about theater?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I reached out to adjust the lighting levels because the soloist refused to stand in the spotlight.  
“I can learn,” he offered, grabbing a chair and pulling it to him. He yelped in surprise as he went tumbling to the ground.  
“Oh, some of the chairs are missing a wheel or two,” I drawled, suppressing my laughter. He glared at me from the floor.   
“Thanks, I noticed,” he grumbled. I took pity on him and offered my hand, then squeaked in surprise when he tugged sharply, pulling me down with him.  
“I was under the impression you wanted to help me, not bruise my ass,” I snapped, rising quickly.  
“Aw, lighten up darlin’,” he told me cheekily.  
“Stop it with the pet names.”  
“Well, you haven’t exactly introduced yourself.” I opened my mouth to tell him that of course I had, don’t be an idiot, and then paused.   
“Er, Natasha,” I said after a moment. He gave me a toothy grin.  
“Hiya, ‘Tasha. I’m Clint.” I rolled my eyes.  
“Not Tasha. Natasha.” He waved me off, checking a seat to make sure it had all its wheels, before sitting down and shoving off a nearby cabinet, stopping near my own chair.  
“So what’re we doin’?”  
“The show choir rehearses on the stage pretty much every day, so I got roped into monitoring lights, since I don’t really do much after school,” I explained. Clint nodded, looking halfway to actually interested. I continued to detail some of the surface details on what operating the light board entailed, right up until one of the main lights began to flicker. I swore under my breath, standing and beginning to search the cabinets for a replacement bulb. Clint watched me curiously as I found what I was looking for, and, with a few delicately pressed buttons, switched on the catwalk lights. He deemed himself my shadow, climbing up the ladder behind me and watching, wide-eyed, as I expertly switched out the bulbs, even going as far as to snag the dying bulb out of the air as I tossed it towards the pile of towels I’d placed in the corner of the catwalk. I raised one eyebrow, and he set it down delicately.  
“Usually, people expect me to catch something when they throw it at me,” he shrugged. I nodded, feigning nonchalance. Suddenly, I whirled around, yanking a small stone out of my pocket and flinging at his head. He caught it easily, only several inches from breaking his nose. Granted, I could tell by its slight crookedness that this would not have been a new experience for him, but the skilled catch still caused me to laugh delightedly.  
“I think I might just keep you,” I said teasingly, feeling myself warming up to him. He gave me a careful smile, following me down the ladder and returning to his seat. “You should try out for the baseball team, I suggested conversationally. He chuckled.  
“The kind of people who get on to the baseball team aren’t usually my kind of people,” he informed me, leaning back in his chair and supporting his head with his interlocked fingers.   
“Cheers to that,” I mumbled. I reached under the counter where the light board resided, rifling through the mini fridge I’d installed last year. Grabbing two cans of cream soda, I held one in his direction, a silent offer. He took it, smirking.  
“We just met, and you’re already feeding m. You aren’t really holding up to your reputation,” he teased. I rolled my eye.   
“The people who formulate the reputations of others are idiots,” I drawled.  
“So you won’t break my fingers if I look at you the wrong way?”  
“Of, of course I will. You just have yet to aggravate me to that extent,” I informed him.  
“I’ll try not to get too far on your bad side, then,” he told me.  
“Sounds good to me,” I agreed. Our conversation reaching a lull, we both turned out attention to the disaster that was our high school’s show choir. We groaned simultaneously as the current soloist attempted a simple dance step and failed miserably, sending herself and her partner crashing to the ground. I winced in sympathy.  
“Don’t you have to…y’know, audition for…whatever that is?” Clint asked me, indicating the stage. I nodded.   
“The people who’re actually talented come out of the woodwork ‘round musicals and such, but none of them really ever took it upon themselves to improve the lovely little ragtag bunch out there…in all its glory,” I finish sarcastically. “I mean, they can sing, I’ll give them that. But they’d do much better just standing on a set of risers and looking pretty.” Clint hummed in agreement.  
“So, per curiosity, who’s actually okay ‘round here?” he asked me. I chuckled, thinking of my unconventional group of friends.  
“The dark-haired boy that just got knocked on his ass?” I pointed. “That’s Bruce Banner. He’s quiet, but he’s sweet once he warms up to you. Then there’s Stark…Tony. He’ll be in any minute, by my guess. He’s Bruce’s best friend, hangs around in the science classrooms until he can drive him home. If you’re into art at all you’re bound to run into Steve at some point. He used to be tiny, but he went to some training camp and bulked up something fierce. Super big, super blonde. Speaking of big and blonde,” I groaned quietly to myself as I heard out school’s Norwegian foreign exchange student come up the stairs. “Clint, meet Thor, who is going to be kicked out if he breaks any more light bulbs,” I said pointedly, glaring at him. He gave m a wide, good-natured smile.   
“I shall do my best, Lady Natasha,” he boomed. Clint glanced at me, his eyebrows hidden somewhere in his hairline.  
“We’ve covered this,” I told Thor patiently. “You can just call m Natasha. Seriously.” He nodded.  
“Of course. Have you seen my lady Jane?” he asked me. I winced.   
“Volume, big guy. I think she’s in the Chem lab with Tony. They’ve got a project going or something.” Thor absorbed this information, then nodded.  
“I shall go find her. Farewell, Natasha, Natasha’s companion.” He then turned, and went bounding down the stairs.   
“Well,” Clint remarked after a moment of stunned silence, “he’s…really something.”  
“I’m just glad his brother didn’t tag along. From what I’ve picked up, Loki’s kind of a little shit. I do my best to stay as far away as possible. “  
“Good to know. Anybody else going to make an appearance?”   
“Not necessarily. But, so you know, if you do meet Steve, you’ll probably find Bucky with him. Tall, dark, and hot as hell.” Clint chuckled.   
“You’re calling dibs on Bucky, I’m guessing?” I blinked at the implication.  
“Never would’ve pegged you for anything other than a lady’s man,” I murmured. Clint went scarlet.   
“Busted,” he said quietly. I smiled.  
“It’s fine. My brother, Phil, he’s the same. Never stated, always implied kind of thing.” Clint raised an eyebrow.   
“You didn’t mention a brother.”  
“He’s picking me up today. He’s home from college, for once in his like,” I said quietly.  
“Where does he go to school, then?” I shrugged.  
“Might as well be in another galaxy, the fuss he raises about coming out here. He goes to Stanford. Not sure on his major yet, but he’s there just the same.” Clint let out a low whistle. “He got a partial scholarship for soccer,” I explained. Clint’s expression morphed into a smirk.   
“Soccer players are hot.” I grabbed the nearest notebook and rapped him over the head with it.  
“That’s my brother, idiot.” He laughed.  
“So you told me. Got a picture?” He wiggled his eyebrows.  
“Not that you’ll be seeing anytime soon, pretty boy,” I informed him.  
“Aww, Tasha, you called my pretty. You sweet on me?” he teased.  
“God, who even says that anymore? What are you, seventy?”  
“Seventeen,” Clint grumbled. This time, I did stick my tongue out at him.  
He stared up in the tech booth with m until the show choir finally got sick of falling over, and decided to call it a night. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was Phil, telling me he was waiting outside. A breathed a sigh of relief when I saw he’d driven our dad’s pick-up truck, rather than his motorcycle. “We can give you a ride home?” I offered, and Clint accepted.  
“You’re brother looks nothing like you,” he told me as we walked up to the truck. I shrugged.  
“That happens, sometimes, y’know. Nah, I’m adopted,” I told him. “By the way…shotgun!” I shouted, and we took off, me beating him to the passenger side door by only a few seconds. “Phil, Clint. Clint, Phil. No ogling my friend in the rearview mirror, we’re driving him home,” I spit out at Phil, in a limited number of breaths. Phil arched an eyebrow.   
“Oh…kay. Nice to meet you, Clint, contrary to Natasha’s beliefs, I’m not going to ogle you, and I don’t know where you live, so directions would be appreciated. Clint flashed him a disarming smile and I groaned.  
“Can we keep the cartoon hearts to a minimum?” I grumbled, rolling down the window. Phil blushed, while Clint resorted to rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out at me.  
Clint directed us to a run-down apartment building that looked more like a horror movie set than an actual place to live.  
“You sure you’re allowed to be living here? I mean, building regulations are a thing,” I pointed out. Phil thumped me over the head, and I glared at him.  
“We can’t afford Stanford,” Clint snarked. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s a monthly lease, so it’s just until we can find somewhere halfway decent to stay,” he explained. I nodded, satisfied.  
“Okay, good.” Clint hopped out of the truck, taking his bag with him. “See you in English!”I called after him, as Phil pulled out of the driveway, taking us home.   
“So, who’s your friend?” he asked after a moment.  
“Subtle,” I teased. “Like I said, his name’s Clint, and he’s in my English class. He’s new here, not really sure why he moved, though. How’s better-than-thou California?”  
“California’s fine. Much warmer than New York. Let me tell you, I have not missed Rochester,” Phil told me. I nodded, propping my feet up on the dashboard.  
“Well, considering anywhere’s better than Rochester, that is not all that hard to believe.” Phil nodded in agreement.   
“Sometime you’ll have to come out and visit me. You can crash on the couch for a week or something,” he offered.  
“Maybe over winter break. When I’m craving heat.” Phil chuckled as he pulled into our driveway. As he parked the truck, I hopped out, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I flashed my mother a smile as I passed the living room, where she sat, immersed in the latest novel she was reading. My father was most likely still at work, pointedly immersing himself in things that were not our family. Typical, and I was used to it by now, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating. I dropped my bag jut inside my bedroom and lay down on my bed, studying the ceiling. I had homework, and my room needed a good cleaning, and someone had to let my mother know when it was time for her to get up and make dinner, but, for now, I was perfectly content to lie back on my bed and relax.


End file.
